I had committed a crime,
probably a murder. The authorities were investigating,
but as of yet, they hadn't connected me to the crime – another fellow was the
prime suspect. I was trying to divert attention from myself, but
I was concerned that I might have left some evidence at the scene
of the crime, such as my fingerprints.

***

I was responsible for working
on a nuclear machine located in the basement of a
house. The machine looked like a large metal box about three
meters high and two meters wide on each side. Several other such
machines had been built, but this was the newest one – number
11.

Something went wrong with the
machine and it appeared that I was responsible. It looked
inevitable that the machine would explode, and it was possible
that everyone on earth would be killed. A black-haired woman
sitting next to me began talking with me about what would happen.
A rush of wind whistled in the distance – darkness crept in. The woman explained that there
wouldn't
be a big explosion, but that the wind and the darkness were the
beginning of what was going to happen.

***

I was in the basement of a
house where I had been living with my father and my mother. My father had discovered that I had done
something wrong; he and my mother had gone to my room (the adjoining room in the basement), and were going through my
things. I was quite upset because I didn't think he had the
right to be searching through my belongings.

I walked into my room; my
father had taken some papers out of my drawers and was reading
them. On his lap he also had a

collage which I had made. In the
collage was a picture of a person with words coming from the
person's mouth. The words had been cut out of newsprint and
pasted together to form a sentence. My father read the words which said something about bodies being buried under the sea. I
stopped, reflected for a moment and told him that my first wife Louise had pasted the words on the collage. But I
actually meant my second wife Carolina, because Carolina was the one who had put the words
there. I remembered the words had come from
an ancient Hindu text, but I couldn't remember the word
"Hindu", and I told my father that the words had derived from a Mayan text.

I became rather angry and
exploded that my father and my mother had no right to be going through my papers. I
said, "I'm not 12. I'm not 22. I'm
28."

I was trying to impress on them
that I was too old for them to be trying to control me. I told
them I had only recently begun to feel comfortable living
with them, but that if they were going to treat me like that, I
would have to leave. I said, "This is what people do when
they leave home. They do what they want to do with the rest of
their lives."